


Warmth

by KhadaVengean



Series: Dimileth Week 2k20 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KhadaVengean/pseuds/KhadaVengean
Summary: In the middle of the night, reminscincing the kindness and wrath of the dead, Byleth joins him and anchors him to their reality.Dimileth Week 2k20 Day 2: "May our hands cling on forevermore"
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Dimileth Week 2k20 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968205
Kudos: 55





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Dimileth Week is over, but I wouldn't be me if I was on time, right? 
> 
> *Silently cries in the corner*
> 
> The other will join soon, that's a promise! 
> 
> [My tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KhadaVengean)
> 
> [Thank you to the lovely acutaeariculae to beta read my stuff!](https://acutaeariculae.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Three years after Dimtri had ascended the throne, Gilbert was the last living member of his father’s inner circle. The former king’s knights have died in Duscur, Rodrigue gave his life for him, and all the other nobles who shared a close connection to his father were gone. 

  
  


Gilbert was the only one left. Probably the only one who knew the old stories of his father, his mother, all the things that his predecessor did. The king did the very best to adapt, to do his very best to act right, to do the right things. 

  
  


But there were times when insecurity crept into his thoughts, ready to strike and whisper into his ear. The voices returned and screamed at him, howled and cried, shouted, and nagged at him. In anger, wrath, hatred, disgust, filth, fear. Everything and nothing at once, they wouldn’t relent until the very end. Dimitri was assured that they would never leave his side until the day he died. 

  
  


In moments when he felt overwhelmed and feared inadequacy in his royal duties, he searched for the portrait of his father and Dimitri's birthmother. King Lambert and Queen Alisha, standing side by side in their royal regalia, her in her white dress and him in his dark blue uniform. 

  
  


Although the voice of his mother never rang through his head and his father’s memory was a distorted mix of kind words and vengeful prayers, the painting gave him peace of mind. Even right now, a single candle was flickering in the distance, the only thing to provide light and let him see through this darkness. A distant sound echoed from the end of the hall, and he was sure that he would regret this decision the next morning. 

  
  


He looked at his father’s face, at the happiness in his every feature. The artist was a genius, capturing the endless joy of his parents in every brushstroke. He caught his mother’s beauty and his father’s pride in the way their eyes looked at the spectator; how his father squeezed his mother’s shoulder with a loving touch and her leaning into it.

  
  


Queen Alisha had been a woman of high birth and was considered a jewel among the nobility. Although many men had tried to ask for her hand, she chose and was chosen by, back then, prince Lambert and married him. 

  
  


With the painting in front of his eyes, he noticed the elegant slope of her nose, the deep blue color of her eyes, and the little dips in the corners of her mouth. It was the only painting left from his mother, the one that did not fall into Cornelia’s hands after she had nearly destroyed the entirety of Castle Blaiddyd. 

  
  


He admired her. Gilbert once told him the story of how she caught the disease that ravaged Fhirdiad over two decades ago and how she accepted her fate, ready to give birth to him. She had a decision to make, and she chose him. Her life or his. She begot the heir to the throne and chose Faerghus and her husband over herself.

  
  


It was something admirable. But also so incredibly terrifying.

“ _Trust me, my son. Your wife would never do this for you. You are not worthy of her, never will be. You failed in everything you ever did. Sometimes, I wonder if it was the right decision that my beloved gave her life for you.”_

  
  


His hands started to tremble, he felt the deep pang of pain pierce his right eye, hidden behind the eyepatch, and bit his lip. Biting, forcing pressure, drawing blood, soaking it up with his tongue, let it flow, let it glide, you are alive,  _ you are alive-! _

“Dimitri?”

  
  


The taste of blood remained on his tongue, spreading over the space and reached his taste buds. But the voice died down, only the howling of the wind in the corners echoed through his ears, and gentle footsteps bouncing off the walls let him look up. Dimitri looked to the right, watched how a person with a candle in their hand entered his field of vision, and when he recognized them, a smile spread on his lips. “Beloved.”

  
  


The queen tilted her head, her green hair following her and falling gracefully over her shoulder. Her strands at the front bounced with her steps, and her naked feet seemed to dance over the carpet. “May I sit with you?” 

  
  


“Of course.” He scooted a little to the left, giving her enough space to gain a comfortable position. Even though he preferred if she sat to his left. Sometimes, her beauty was his only saving grace, and catching her small smile helped him to get through numerous conferences with other nobles.

  
  


But she insisted anyway – she preferred to sit on his right, to hold his hand and squeeze it under the table whenever someone wasn’t looking. Her reasoning was both simple yet terrifying. 

  
  


“ _You have a blind spot on your right side. If I sit to your right, then I can properly react if something is happening.”_

  
  


“What’s wrong, Dima?” Byleth had set the candle on the floor, leaning forward to catch his left eye. Their hands intervened, their fingers locking, and he could hear how their rings were hitting each other, creating a high metallic sound. “Do the voices keep you up again?”

  
  


He didn’t chuckle, but let the corners of his mouth just the smallest bit. The voices complained, shocked, and wishing to bring shame to his mind, but Dimitri simply let his shoulders drop. “It’s alright today.” He lifted their hands, brought hers to his lips, and pressed them softly against her soft skin. “I was simply thinking about my parents, that’s all.” 

  
  


Her eyebrow betrayed her skepticism, her hesitation of believing him. “It’s true, don’t worry about me.” Dimitri pulled her close, pressed a small kiss against her temple, catching her hushed sound of contentment, and tucked a strand behind her ear. He snared her gaze and let his shoulders fall. 

  
  


“That’s easy for you to say,” she mumbled, letting her fingers skim over his cheeks and tucking her head under his chin. “But when it is midnight, and your husband is sitting in front of an old portrait, I think it's right to worry at least a little bit."

  
  


He chuckled. “A fair point, my darling wife,” He rose from his seat, reached for her hand, and brought her with him. He shot her a look from the side. “Let’s go to bed. Would that suffice, beloved?”

  
  


She lopped her arm around his, grabbed his hand in hers, locking their fingers, shot him a grateful smile, and that was answer enough. 


End file.
